


The Bride of Voldemort

by Hogwarts_Riddle



Series: The Bride of Voldemort Universe [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chamber of Secrets Never Happened, Death Eater Hermione Granger, F/M, Forced Marriage, Imprisonment, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Possessive Tom Riddle, Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Second War with Voldemort, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29288859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hogwarts_Riddle/pseuds/Hogwarts_Riddle
Summary: Captured and imprisoned beneath Malfoy Manor, Hermione is forced to witness the torture of her fellow prisoners in an attempt to get her to reveal the location of Harry Potter. Then, in comes Lord Voldemort, a mysterious dark wizard and blast from her past, who offers her a choice: become his bride and join him in remaking the world, or remain his prisoner and watch as her friends are hunted down and killed.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: The Bride of Voldemort Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2150964
Comments: 56
Kudos: 201





	1. Chapter 1

It burned.

Oh, how it burned.

For seven days she had sat in a dark, damp prison cell with absolutely no way out, staring at the word that had been jaggedly carved into the flesh of her arm. The wound itself didn’t hurt so much anymore, reduced to what she could only describe as a mildly annoying sting, but rather it was the memory of it happening that burned her, a permanent mark that had been scarred into her brain as well.

Those eyes, as deep and dark as the soul of the witch they belonged to. She would never forget them. Nor would she ever forget the sound of her shrill cackling. As a child, she had read stories of witches who liked to eat children like her. She had convinced herself that they were just stories meant to scare people, and that they weren’t true; a theory that was reinforced when she came to Hogwarts and found out that witches were in fact real.

She knew differently now.

Bellatrix Lestrange was one of the very witches she had read about. There was no doubt in her mind that, given half the chance, Bellatrix wouldn’t hesitate to blast her to pieces and boil what remained in her cauldron for dinner.

Anger burned inside of her towards that bloodthirsty witch. She had never wished someone dead so badly before.

Though, not for the reason one might think. She honestly didn’t care about the woman’s cruelty towards her. The nasty word that she now had the pleasure of seeing on her own skin didn’t bother her. It was just a name at the end of the day, and fear of a name only increased the fear of the thing itself.

No, the cause of the burning anger and hatred she felt towards her had to do with something else.

The sound of heels clicking against the stone floor alerted Hermione of _her_ presence before she even spotted her.

Hermione sat up straighter, holding her head up high as she always did when the witch came to visit. She may be a prisoner, but she wasn’t about to let anyone have the satisfaction of seeing her cower in fear.

Dressed in the typical Death Eater robes, black like her hair and eyes, Bellatrix sauntered over to her cell and peered through the bars. “Good morning, Mudblood. Have a nice night?” she taunted, a sadistic smirk tugging at her lips.

Hermione said nothing, nor did she even move a muscle. It wasn’t necessary.

Sure enough, Bellatrix proved her right as she continued on speaking without a reply.

“I’ve brought you an extra special treat today. I think you’re going to really enjoy it.”

At the motion of her hand, a couple of other Death Eaters stepped into view, neither of which she recognized, holding a figure with a burlap sack over his head between them.

A feeling of dread washed over her as she wondered who they had brought today.

“Remove the sack!” Bellatrix ordered with an almost giddy excitement.

Hermione couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her mouth when the Death Eaters did so.

“Hermione!”

The sight before her came as a stab to her chest. “Ron!”

She hadn’t seen the ginger boy at all in the seven days that she had been locked in the cellar below Malfoy Manor. They had been separated when they were brought to the house, so as not to give them any hope of saving each other. She had wondered what they had done with him and whether he was alright. Now, as she gazed upon his tall frame, bloody and heavily bruised, with a black eye, she finally got her answers.

“Your boyfriend here has been just as stubborn as you in refusing to cooperate, so we thought we’d try a different tactic.”

Bellatrix pulled out her wand, just as twisted as she was, holding it up to examine it keenly for a moment before pointing it in her direction.

“No!” Ron jerked under his captor’s hold, trying in vain to lunge at the savage witch, but it was useless. Not only did the Death Eaters have a strong hold on him, but his hands were bound by iron shackles. The fact that they had gone to such lengths to keep him detained meant that he must have become violent at one point. It made sense. Ron never did like to go down without a fight.

None of them did.

And yet, she remained virtually unrestrained and practically untouched, be it still in a cell.

Until now, it would seem.

Hermione shut her eyes tight, bracing herself for the inevitable. She had read about the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, and while she knew that you couldn’t learn everything from books, though she was loath to admit it, it did sound terrifying. It was described in the book as the most excruciating pain known to wizardkind, supposedly on the same scale as being burnt alive and giving birth.

She waited.

And waited.

Then she heard it.

“Crucio!”

Her eyes flew back open when, rather than feeling her body convulse with pain, she heard a scream coming from elsewhere.

“Ron!”

She found him, much to her horror, writhing on the floor, his face scrunched with pain. The crazy witch must have flipped her wand around at the last moment, aiming at him instead.

"I wonder how much torture he's willing to take," Bellatrix let out a shrill cackle. "Do you think he'd be willing to die for you?"

Scrambling up from her seat, she charged at the woman, reaching out through the bars with the intent of strangling her. However, the two other Death Eaters who had dragged Ron in didn't let her, grabbing her arms before she could do so and pulling so that her body was pressed painfully against the bars.

"Let him go! Please! He's done nothing wrong!"

"Nothing wrong? Hah!" Bellatrix curled her lip at that. "His mere association with you makes him an enemy to all us upstanding purebloods. He's nothing more than a filthy blood traitor!"

Unable to fight or even move, she was left with no choice but to watch as her boyfriend was tortured in front of her.

 _This_ was why she burned with hatred towards the witch. Not because she tortured her, but because she tortured those she cared about.

Every morning she came in with a prisoner, a different one each day. Some of them she knew and some of them she didn’t. Luna and Ollivander were among them. Most days she managed to keep her resolve intact fairly well, but some days, she came closer to breaking.

This was one of those days.

When Bellatrix finally drew back her wand, the Death Eaters released her, going over to Ron’s body to hoist him back into an upright position. He was weakened from the ordeal, barely able to keep his head up, but as far as she could tell, he was still alive. That was all that mattered at that moment.

Seemingly satiated by the pain she had inflicted on him, Bellatrix then turned back to her. “Now, tell me where the boy is hiding.”

She shook her head adamantly.

“Come now, surely you wouldn’t want his suffering to be for nothing?” the witch egged her on. “Just tell me where to find Harry Potter, and I’ll leave you both alone.”

She shook her head again.

She tried not to look at Ron, knowing that she would begin to feel guilty if she did. Ron would understand why she couldn’t. They had to protect Harry. She may be close to breaking, but she wasn’t completely broken. Not yet…

“No! I won’t tell you!”

Bellatrix’s face twisted with rage. In a single motion, her wand was drawn once more, pointed only a couple of inches from her face. “You stupid, insufferable little Mudblood!” she snarled. “I’ll teach you to do as you’re told!”

Had her wand not been taken from her when she was brought to the house, she probably would have pointed it at Bellatrix in return. As it were, she was practically defenseless.

Bellatrix began to fire curses at her one after the other, which Hermione managed to evade by quickly dodging out of the way. However, it was only a matter of time before she tripped in the process, knocking her to the floor.

The crazy witch opened her mouth once more to cast another spell, but stopped all of a sudden as she herself was hit by a spell from the side, causing her to become rigid like a statue.

“You’re one to talk, Bellatrix,” came a rich, almost hypnotic voice. “As I recall, I specifically said that the girl was _not_ to be harmed.”

The Death Eaters who were holding Ron up, quickly moved out of the way as a tall, assumingly male figure, dressed in a black cloak with the hood drawn to hide his face, came forward.

"My Lord," they said, bowing in respect.

The cloaked man paid the Death Eaters no mind as he came up beside Bellatrix, facing her for a few moments before he turned towards Hermione.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Hermione was too stunned to even try to answer. Lord Voldemort, as in the mysterious dark wizard who had reappeared out of thin air over a year ago, whose name everyone feared to even speak, was standing before her.

but asking if she was alright. She was tempted to point out the fact that he was the whole reason she was in this situation to begin with, but thought better of it.

“Has she been silenced?”

“No, My Lord,” the Death Eaters shook their heads. “Lady Bellatrix was trying to interrogate her on the whereabouts of the Potter boy.”

“And I assume she refused to divulge this information?”

They nodded.

“No matter. It isn’t of terrible importance to me at the moment,” Voldemort claimed, waving his hand dismissively. “Remove Lady Bellatrix from my sight. I wish to speak with the girl.”

Bowing once more, the Death Eaters grabbed Bellatrix, still stunned, by the arm and started to drag her off. However, they hadn’t gone too far, before they were stopped again.

“Leave the boy. I don’t believe he’s in any condition to run off. And if he tries, he will have me to deal with.”

Ron was practically thrown to the floor, landing with a thud at Voldemort’s feet. The Death Eaters then left with the stunned witch in toe.

Slowly she picked herself up off the floor, making sure her eyes never left the cloaked man. Bellatrix may be gone, but from what she had heard of Voldemort, she couldn’t be sure that he was any better.

With a wave of his hand, the cell door unlocked, sliding open just enough for him to slip in.

“She hurt you,” he stated, stopping no more than two feet away from her.

Any logical person in her situation would have tried to get away from him, be it escape or even take a few steps back to put a bit of distance between them, but not her. She wasn’t one to back down in the face of danger, preferring to face things head on instead.

And why was he acting as if he was concerned about her well being anyway? Was he trying to lull her into a false sense of security. If so, it wouldn’t work. She saw right through him.

“It’s fine,” she insisted.

“No, it’s not,” he argued. “Show me where.”

When she failed to do as he had asked, he reached out and grabbed her by the arm. A jolt of electricity passed between them at the tough, taking her by surprise. His hand was cold, but otherwise seemed like any other human hand

She didn’t understand how he knew where it was. Maybe he had seen her look over at it briefly? Though, she supposed it didn’t really matter.

After a moment, he pushed back the sleeve of her jumper, revealing the crudely carved word on her forearm.

_‘Mudblood’_

He stared at it for a while, his grip tightening on her arm. She tried to pretend she didn’t feel it sting when he ran his fingers over it, but she couldn’t help but wince slightly. Again, he must have noticed, seeing as he let go soon a moment later.

“She used a cursed blade. It can’t be healed.”

Hermione just nodded her head. She had already figured that much out on her own. The scar would remain there for the rest of her life, serving as a permanent reminder of her encounter with Bellatrix. She only hoped that it would stop stinging in time.

“Get away from her!”

Glancing past the cloaked man, she saw that Ron was, by some miracle, still conscious, and was trying to get up on his own, likely to come to her aid, if she knew him at all. She wasn’t sure whether to consider him brave for trying or foolish for thinking he was strong enough to do so.

Voldemort turned and raised his wand towards him, silently levitating him off the ground and to his side. The cell door closed behind him.

“Ronald Weasley, I take it?” he asked. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about yourself and less about her.”

“Piss off, you brute,” Ron spat at him. “Like you care about her at all.”

She might not be able to see his face beneath that cloak, but even she could tell that had angered him.

Ron fell to the floor yet again, this time letting out a pained cry on his landing. Judging from the crack she heard, as well as the fact that he landed with his arm pinned underneath him, she was pretty sure he had broken a bone. Voldemort didn’t seem to care, as he kept his wand pointed at his chest, as if ready to finish him off with the next word that came out of his mouth.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him! Please!”

Without even thinking about what she was doing, she put herself in between the two. She was well aware that it would be all too easy for him to force her out of the way, but she couldn’t just stand back and do nothing. Ron was clearly in bad shape, and she wasn’t sure if he could survive any further torture.

After a few moments, Voldemort lowered his wand, though not fully.

“It would seem we're at an impasse,” he stated. “I want to kill him. You don’t want me to. Shall we make a deal?”

She scoffed. “I don’t make deals with the devil!”

He began to raise his other hand, and for a brief moment, she thought he was going to hit her for that comment, but he didn’t. Instead, he reached up and pulled back the hood of his cloak, revealing his face to them.

“Are you sure about that, Hermione?” he asked.

Hermione felt as though she had lost all feeling in her body. She knew him... She knew his face all too well.

“Tom? Tom Riddle?”

Tom smirked. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Suddenly his strange behavior made more sense. It didn’t justify who he was and what he had done, not by a long shot, but she understood.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered from behind her. “You two know each other?”

She ignored him, not wanting to address that particular question at the moment. “What do you want?”

“I think you already know that.”

Hermione was fairly sure she had a vague notion as to what it was he wanted, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Besides, she wanted to hear the words from his own mouth.

“Join me in remaking this world, Hermione. Agree to stay with me and be my bride, my equal in power, and I promise that I will let this pathetic excuse of a wizard you call your boyfriend go freely from here.”

Her eyes widened, whether out of shock or horror, that she couldn’t be sure of, for she felt both just as strongly.

“And if I refuse?”

“If you refuse, you give me free reign to do as I please with Weasley, along with the rest of your friends, while you remain as my personal prisoner.”

She gritted her teeth.

“You sick bastard!” Ron took the words right out of her mouth.

Tom merely shrugged. “That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

It was hardly a fair deal. There was only one real choice, as far as she could see. He had made sure of that. She didn’t like the idea. At one time, she might have jumped at the chance to be with him, but not now. Not now that she knew who he was, or rather, who he had become.

However, the alternative was even worse. Having each and every one of her friends hunted down and killed while she remained alive and untouched under his orders… She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t let them all fall into his hands.

Not Ron.

Not Harry.

Not Ginny.

None of them deserved that.

She couldn’t believe she was actually going to do this. She wouldn’t if she thought she had any other choice or chance of escape.

With a deep breath, she raised her head to meet his gaze. “Fine. I’ll agree to your deal...”

“Hermione, no!”

She brought a hand up to silence him. She wasn’t finished yet.

“I’ll agree to your deal, if you let me heal him and watch him leave with my own eyes,” she finished. “I need to know that you’re not going to go back on your word.”

Tom was silent for several moments, narrowing his eyes at the fallen boy before he withdrew his wand, vanishing from sight beneath his robe. “Very well. However, he is to be restrained and watched by my Death Eaters until he leaves.”

“Just make sure they don’t hurt him any more.”

With a nod of his head, he opened the cell door once more and slipped back out. The door closed and snapped locked behind him.

“I will order that your wand and bag be brought to you,” he said, giving her one last glance before he pulled his hood back up. “Rest assured, we shall see each other again very soon, _my dear_.”

Then, he was gone.

She finally let herself go, her body sagging to the floor, suddenly feeling rather ill.

What had she just done?


	2. Chapter 2

True to his word, Tom sent two Death Eaters, the same as before, down with her wand and her beaded bag, tossing them in through the bars.

Hermione eagerly snatched them up off the ground, feeling a sense of relief wash over her at having them back. These two items, basic as they seemed, had become her most prized possessions while on the run. They were her lifeline in a way; her wand keeping her and her friends safe, and her bag keeping them fed, clothed and sheltered overnight.

And now, with any luck, she hoped to use them to heal Ron.

“Let us know when you’re done,” said one of the Death Eaters who was standing guard by the door.

“And don’t try anything funny,” said the other.

Hermione rolled her eyes at them. They didn’t even have the courtesy to turn around or step away to give them a bit of space. Though, she supposed she shouldn’t have been terribly surprised. What did she expect? They were Death Eaters after all.

Choosing to ignore them for the time being, she got to work. While she was nowhere near as qualified for the job as Madam Pomfrey, she had taken a few healing classes back at Hogwarts, as well as read a few books, and was confident enough to say that she believed she could help him.

The first thing she did was cast a diagnosis spell, causing all the damaged areas on Ron’s body to start glowing different shades depending on the severity. In addition to the black-eye he was sporting, he also had two cracked ribs, various cuts and bruises across his entire body, the start of a head concussion, some damaged nerves from extended use of the Cruciatus Curse, and just as she had thought, a broken arm.

“Oh, Ron,” she muttered under her breath. “What did they do to you?”

Ron either hadn’t heard her or had heard her, but purposefully chose not to respond. A part of her was happy that he hadn’t. She wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted to know the answer to that.

She wouldn’t be able to heal him entirely. The cracked ribs and the broken arm were beyond her skills. Sure, she could attempt the bone mending spell, but it was a particularly tricky spell, one that had to be done just right in order to work, and frankly she didn’t want to accidentally end up vanishing his bones all together. From what she had seen, re-growing bones was not pleasant.

Reaching her hand into her bag, she dug around inside, finding everything from books to a bag of crisps that Ron had been munching on before they were taken, before her hand finally brushed against the medical kit.

“Blimey, what did you do to that there bag?” one of the Death Eaters asked.

She just glared at them. “An undetectable extension charm, if you must know. It's simple enough to do if you know how.”

The Death Eater scowled, but she did catch a hint of pink on his cheeks. It gave her a bit of satisfaction to know that she had embarrassed him.

The medical kit was a bit low on supplies, seeing as she hadn’t restocked it in a couple of months, but it still had most of the basics that she needed.

“I don’t suppose you can sit up on your own?”

He shook his head slowly.

With no short amount of effort on her part and pain on his, she managed to help him sit up. She took a roll of bandages and began to wrap them around his ribs, tight enough to immobilize the area but not too tight to restrict his breathing too much. Next, she dug back into her bag and pulled out one of Harry’s checkered flannel shirts, and fashioned it into a sling for his arm, tying the sleeves around his neck.

“How does that feel?”

“As good as can be expected, I suppose.”

It was nothing substantial, but it would work until he could get proper medical attention. She could have just as easily cast a bandaging charm instead, but she knew she had limited time left with Ron, and as selfish as it seemed when he was in pain, she hoped that by doing it manually, she might be able to drag that time out a bit longer.

“Muffliato,” she whispered an incantation as she leaned over to apply salve to Ron’s black eye.

Ron caught on right away to what she was doing. “So, what’s the plan?”

She furrowed a brow at him, letting a bit of her hair fall in front of them so that the Death Eaters wouldn’t see their lips moving. “What do you mean?”

“What’s the plan on getting out of here?”

“There is no plan. You’ll be leaving as soon as I’ve finished healing you, and I’ll be staying here.”

“You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. 

“I thought you were just pretending to go along with the deal to trick him.” His face went pale, making the freckles on his face all the more prominent, his eyes widening as the realization struck him. “Honestly, Hermione, do you even know what you just agreed to? He wants you as his bride. Bloody hell, he plans to marry you!”

She sighed. “Yes, Ron, I’m well aware of that, though I’m trying not to think about it too much.”

“You can’t do this. I won’t let you throw your life away to that monster for my sake!”

His black eye started to improve almost as soon as the salve was applied, so she moved on to the cuts and bruises next across his body, applying the salve to the ones she could get at without removing his clothes.

“Or do you want to marry him? You clearly know him. What did you call him? Tom… Riddle, was it?”

“It’s a long story, but yes, I do know him. I met him briefly a couple years ago, though I was unaware of who he was at the time.”

That was part of the reason she had agreed to stay. Not because she was desperate to reunite with him or anything, but because there was a part of her that had this sinking suspicion that she might be partially to blame for his return as Voldemort.

The other part of the reason…

“Besides, I wouldn’t get very far even if I was to try and escape. Bellatrix took a sample of my blood when she carved her knife into me. She can use it to track me.”

“That witch is bloody mental.”

“She didn’t take any blood from you, did she?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Her knife wasn’t her weapon of choice with me.”

Just to make sure, she ran a spell to look for any signs of a tracking spell on him. There was nothing to be found, much to her relief. He shouldn’t have any trouble in that regard.

Her time was almost up. She had done all that she could to heal him, and one quick glance towards the door proved that the Death Eaters were still standing there waiting for them. Leaning forward, she pretended to check the bandages around his chest one last time.

“Take my bag and head straight for the nearest town or city. There, you’ll need to find a medical facility. Ask the local muggles if you need help. Stay there until you’re well enough and send a patronus for someone to come and get you. The last thing you need is to be splinched again. Then go find Harry and the others.”

“What about you? What do you expect me to tell them?”

“Tell them not to worry, that I’m fine and that they need to continue on without me. I’ll do my best to keep _him_ off their trail as long as I can to give them a chance to find a new place to hide. Just try not to take too long. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to.

“Oh, and tell Harry not to beat himself up too much over this. It’s my decision.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that’s gonna stop him.”

She snorted. It probably wouldn’t. That was just the way Harry was. He carried such a heavy burden on his shoulders, believing that he had to carry it all on his own. Whenever someone tried to help him and got hurt as a result, he blamed himself. She couldn’t completely fault him for that. A lot of people he cared about had died trying to protect him. For his sake, she hoped that wouldn’t happen to her. Harry would never forgive himself if it did.

"Are you almost done?" one of the Death Eaters asked.

Lifting the Muffliato Charm on them, she slid the medical kit back into her bag, and shrinking it down a bit, stuffed it quickly into Ron's pants pocket.

“I’ve done as much as I can,” Hermione stood. “He’s ready.”

The door opened in a matter of seconds, allowing the Death Eaters to file in. One grabbed Ron, completely unphased by the yelp he let out when he grabbed his bad arm, and the other grabbed her, snatching her wand from her again. She started to protest that it wasn’t necessary, but he didn’t listen and pushed her out of the cell.

Hermione tried not to look in the other cells as she passed, knowing that it would only make it more difficult for her to go through with this if she so much as saw another familiar face. Perhaps in time an opportunity to save them would present itself, but for now she had to focus on saving Ron.

Wormtail was waiting by the cellar entrance for them, holding the door open, Ron glowered at him as they passed, causing the man to scamper backwards like the cowardly rat that he was.

After seven days of being stuck below ground, emerging back into the light of day came like an onslaught to her eyes. It took a while for them to adjust to the brightness, allowing her to see her surroundings once more.

When she was able to, she found herself back in the main hall, standing before Tom and the Malfoy’s who were lined up behind him. Bellatrix was nowhere in sight. She let out a sigh of relief. With any luck, she was still stunned.

“The boy’s ready to leave, My Lord,” said the Death Eater who was holding Hermione.

“Excellent.” Tom strode forward, stopping in front of Ron. “She did a rather good job of patching you up, didn’t she?”

“What did you expect? She’s the brightest witch of the age,” Ron retorted.

Surprisingly enough, Tom didn’t lash out at him for that. Instead, he chuckled. “I’m well aware of just how capable she is, and I’m sure she will grow even more powerful now that she is at my side.”

Ron’s fists clenched. Despite his broken arm and cracked ribs, he managed to pull himself away from the Death Eater’s hold just long enough to reach out and press a quick kiss to Hermione’s lips before he was restrained back again. 

“You may have the rest of her, but her heart will always be mine!”

Tom did lash out that time, slapping him straight across the face.

“Get this boy out of my sight before I change my mind and decide to kill him!”

The Death Eater who had been restraining her, let go and handed her wand to Tom, going to aid the other in holding Ron back. He gradually stopped struggling against them as they dragged him from the room.

Tom reached out and placed a hand firmly on her shoulder, preventing her from going after them.

“You promised that I could see him leave!” Hermione reminded, turning on him.

“And so you shall.”

The two of them followed at a distance, Tom’s hand never leaving her shoulder as they walked.

She wanted nothing more than to pull away from him, to run after Ron and never let this man touch her again, but she knew that she couldn’t. This was her choice, and she had to live with it, which sadly meant that she was going to have to get used to being touched by him, among other things, a lot more. The mere thought gave her goosebumps.

They stopped at the threshold of the front door. By then, Ron and the Death Eaters were already halfway to the front gate. Once there, they turned him around to remove the shackles.

Ron rubbed at his wrists, looking back at her. Though at a distance, she could still see the determination in his eyes. The message was clear in them.

_“I will find a way to free you,”_ they read.

Hermione shook her head. She genuinely hoped that he wouldn’t be foolish enough to try.

The gate was unlocked and pulled open. The Death Eaters threw something that looked like Ron’s wand out before shoving him out as well, thankfully not hard enough to make him fall over and injure himself even more. They slammed the gate shut behind a second later, locking it back up.

Ron carefully bent down to pick up his wand, turning and casting a spell at the gate. It rebounded off the metal bars shot back at him. He managed to move out of the way just in time for it to sail past his head.

That was why it was so pointless to try and free her. Malfoy Manor was protected by various different shields and enchantments, performed both by the Malfoy’s themselves and probably even Tom himself. No one got in or out without them knowing.

She was quite trapped.

Ron tried a few more times before he finally gave up and retreated from the gate, disappearing behind the hedged gardens and into the forest.

“As you can see, I kept my side of the deal. Now it’s your turn to keep yours,” Tom reminded.

“I know.”

Tom started to steer her back inside as the two Death Eaters returned.

“Travers, Avery, you are dismissed.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Travers and Avery bowed and took their leave.

The Malfoy’s were still standing there when they returned. They had been conversing amongst themselves when they first walked in, but stopped immediately upon noticing their approach and turned to face them.

“I presume you’ve already been introduced to Miss Granger?” Tom asked.

The family of three nodded their heads, be it a bit stiffly.

It was no secret that the Malfoy’s held her in contempt because of her blood status. She didn't know Mr. or Mrs. Malfoy very well, having only encountered them a few times before, but she did know Draco. She knew him _too_ well.

“Good, because from this day forth, you shall address her as ‘My Lady’,” Tom announced. “She has just agreed to be my bride, and as such, is to be treated as my equal."

Mrs. Malfoy gasped.

Mr. Malfoy’s eyes bulged in horror.

Draco looked as if he had just swallowed a lemon.

“But, My Lord, she’s a Mudblood,” Mr. Malfoy took a step forward. “Surely you don’t expect-”

Tom had his wand pointed at Mr. Malfoy’s neck so quickly that even Hermione was taken back by the movement.

“Are you questioning my judgement, Lucius? If so, I can easily have you replaced.”

Mr. Malfoy stood frozen to the spot, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed. “N-No, My Lord. You know I would never think to question you in such a way. I’m simply concerned that the _others_ might be displeased by this turn of events.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. The only thing he was concerned about was saving his own hide.

“Of course you wouldn’t. As for the issue of her blood status, I do not believe it will be much of a problem. As I stated before, she is remarkably capable when it comes to magic. She has already proven herself to me and I’m sure she’ll prove herself to the rest in time.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right,” Mr. Malfoy sagged with relief when Tom withdrew his wand.

“Seeing as you are so concerned for her well-being, I shall assign your wife and son to be under her command.”

“What?!” Hermione and Mr. Malfoy exclaimed in unison.

Mr. Malfoy opened his mouth, as if to object, but Tom completely ignored him, pushing him out of the way.

“Narcissa, you will act as her attendant. In addition to caring for her, you will educate her on how a proper pureblood witch ought to dress and act in public."

Mrs. Malfoy nodded.

“And Draco, you will serve as Miss Granger’s personal guard. As your father pointed out, and I have already witnessed, there will be many among our ranks that won’t approve of my choice, and might attempt to harm her. It will be your job to protect her from said attempts by whatever means necessary.”

Draco scowled. At first it looked as though he would refuse, but a hard look from both of his parents urged him to reconsider.

“As you wish, My Lord,” Draco practically choked on his pride.

Hermione was struggling to keep up with everything. The day certainly had proven to be a whirlwind of surprises.To actually have Draco Malfoy at her beck and call… She should have felt satisfaction at the thought of having the bane of her Hogwarts life actually treat her with respect for once, but she didn’t. She just felt horrified by it all. As much as she disliked the Malfoys, she didn’t like the idea of them being her slaves. She didn’t like the idea of anyone being enslaved under her.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” she protested.

“Well, I think that it is,” Tom insisted, turning his head in her direction. “He’s capable enough to do so, and I won’t have to worry about him trying to kiss you.”

Hermione and Draco exchanged looks of disgust.

“Exactly my point. Now, Narcissa, would you please escort her to her bedroom, the one I asked you to prepare earlier, and see to it that she cleans herself up?”

“Yes, My Lord.” Mrs Malfoy bowed to Tom before heading for the huge marble staircase. 

Tom released his hold on her shoulder at last, allowing Hermione to roll out the stiffness. She then turned to him, holding out her hand expectantly.

“I want my wand back.”

Rather than give it to her, he tucked it into his robe next to his own. “You shall get it back when I’m certain you won’t use it to try and escape.”

She gritted her teeth. It would seem he trusted her just as much as she trusted him.

“Come, My Lady. We must get you looking presentable,” Mrs. Malfoy called to her.

Spinning around on the spot, half hoping that her mess of hair would whack him in the face in the process, she stormed off to follow her, if only to get away from the infuriating dark wizard for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So, here we are at chapter two. I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think, and how you think things are going to progress.
> 
> Anyway, just wanted to let you know that I do have a couple of social media sites that I update when I post new chapters and what not. You can find me on both Instagram and Tumblr.
> 
> My Instagram Username is hogwarts.ridde & my Tumblr is hogwarts-riddle.


	3. Chapter 3

Malfoy Manor was the kind of house in which a lot of girls dreamed of living. Hermione had once overheard Pansy Parkinson brag that it was the most magnificent estate in all of Britain, and while she wasn’t entirely sure if that claim was completely accurate, not having seen too many estates in her life, she could understand why she would brag.

It was a veritable palace, by all definitions of the word, not only on the outside, but on the inside too. Hermione caught herself staring on more than one occasion as she followed Mrs. Malfoy down one of two, long adjoining corridors. It was hard not to stare, especially with a bunch of eyes staring back at her.

Though, staring might not be the right word.

Leering was more like it.

Hanging from the walls in between doors and candle sconces, were portrait after portrait of what she assumed to all be relatives of the Malfoys. They all had the same platinum blonde hair and the signature Malfoy scowl on their faces.

“Mudblood!” one of them hissed.

“What’s she doing in our house?” asked another.

“Get rid of that filth!”

She should have known that this would happen, especially after what had happened at Grimmauld Place.

Mrs. Malfoy stopped in her tracks, slowly turning her head to look at each of the offending portraits. “The Dark Lord has claimed her for himself. She is to be his bride.”

A collection of gasps echoed throughout the corridor as the portraits began to murmur amongst themselves. They went quiet after that, and bothered her no longer.

Mrs. Malfoy started to move again, and Hermione had to scramble to keep up with her. For a woman in a long dress and heals, she certainly was fast, and somehow managed to look poised all the while. She couldn’t help but feel intimidated by the woman’s pure elegance. There was something almost scary about it.

They came to the end of the corridor, where they found themselves before three doors.

"These are the Dark Lord's quarters; three rooms in which no one but himself, and those he personally invites, are allowed in. The door straight ahead leads to his bedroom, which you will still be required to knock before entering, unless specified otherwise. The door to your right leads to your bedroom. Each bedroom has its own ensuite bathroom. Finally, the door to your left leads to a private drawing room. It is open for you and the Dark Lord to use whenever you please."

She nodded in understanding.

Mrs. Malfoy opened the door, stepping aside to let her go first before entering herself.

Hermione’s jaw dropped open when she saw it.

She had never seen such a bedroom before. For starters, it was about the same size as the entire bottom floor of her family home back in Hampstead, and far more extravagant. The entire room was decorated in Slytherin Green, which was to be expected from a family that had been in Slytherin for generations, with a queen-size four poster canopy bed against the far wall. In one corner stood a vanity set, complete with a variety of perfumes and make-up. On the wall directly across from her bed there was a lit fireplace with a couple of chairs surrounding it. Then, in another corner was a wardrobe that stretched from floor to ceiling, and next to it was another door, presumably leading to the ensuite bathroom that had been mentioned.

Hermione didn’t say a thing, or even move from her spot for the first few moments, feeling too overwhelmed by it all.

Mrs. Malfoy didn't see the need to wait for her to recover, and stepped further into the room, opening up the wardrobe in the corner. It was empty, save for a single plain, white nightgown.

"I shall owl the seamstress at Twilfitt and Tattings and ask her to come and measure you for some more suitable clothes. Until then I will lend you some of my old clothes to wear. Is that suitable to you, My lady?”

The use of the title caught her off guard. “You don’t have to actually call me that. Just Hermione, or even Miss Granger is fine.”

“I’m afraid not. The Dark Lord has ordered us to address you as such,” she pointed out. “And it would hardly do to call you Miss Granger, when your last name will surely change once you and the Dark Lord are married.”

She didn’t like the idea of changing her name. It was so sexist. Why should women have to change their names in order to get married? Why couldn’t men take the woman’s last name? From a very young age, she had made up her mind that she wouldn’t take her husband’s name, or at least not fully. Hyphenating two last names was an option she had considered.

Still, she didn’t argue this fact with Mrs. Malfoy, as her own personal views were quite clear. This was an issue she would have to bring up with Tom later.

“Now, I shall take my leave to go and procure for you some temporary clothes. In the meantime, I’d advise you to wash yourself thoroughly. If you’re still dirty by the time I return, I will be forced to wash you myself, and I think I speak for both of us when I say that I would rather not have to submit myself to that.”

Hermione nodded, for once in total agreement with her.

“If you need anything while I’m gone, call for one of our house elves,” Mrs. Malfoy added before retreating from the room, closing the door behind her with a click.

Hermione quickly decided that she was not going to call on the house elves, even if she did need help. She knew exactly how the Malfoy’s house elves were treated, having seen more than enough from Dobby.

With Mrs. Malfoy’s warning still fresh in her mind, she headed straight into the bathroom, finding that it was nearly as elaborate as the bedroom, which was surprising to her because it was just a bathroom. As odd as it sounded, she nearly cried at the sight of it. One of the things she had missed most of all while being on the run was having an actual toilet and bathtub readily available.

It only took her a few moments to strip out of her old, dirty clothes, and run herself a bath, pouring in some of the chamomile scented body wash. She let out a sigh of pleasure as she slowly sunk down into the hot soapy water, leaning her head back against the edge of the tub for a moment as she felt her aches and pains wash away.

Her thoughts gradually began to drift to her friends. Was Ron safe? Had he made it to a town or city yet? Were his bandages holding up properly? And what about Harry? Was he safe where he was? She had to admit that she felt a bit guilty. There she was, relaxing in a nice hot bath, while there were so many others out there, like Ron and Harry, who didn’t have such a luxury.

Pushing those thoughts away, as there was nothing she could do about it at the moment, she started the task of scrubbing herself down, even dunking her head under to wash her hair. The water soon changed to an embarrassing brownish-red color from all the dirt and blood.

Once every last inch of her was clean, she climbed out and wrapped herself up in a big fluffy green towel, her feet drying on the plush rug that laid just in front of the tub. Out of instinct, she started to search around for a hair dryer, only to remember a few moments later that there wasn’t one.

She wasn’t entirely sure how pureblood witches and wizards dried their hair. Maybe they used their wands? A Hot Air Charm would prove quite effective.

However, she couldn’t exactly do that either, seeing as Tom refused to give her back her wand.

Left with no other choice, she grabbed another towel and wrapped it around her head, struggling to stuff every stray curl inside.

Mrs. Malfoy was back by the time she stepped out of the bathroom, and had already laid an outfit out on the bed for her. “It might be a bit big on you, but we should be able to tighten it accordingly,” she explained. “I also took the liberty of choosing dresses that can either be paired with long gloves, or have long sleeves.”

It took Hermione a moment to realize that she was referring to the scar on her arm. The bath had taken much of the sting out, so she barely noticed it, but sure enough, it was still there.

The only reminder of her time imprisoned in the cellar that she wasn’t able to wash away.

“Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Taking the clothes from the bed, she went to change behind the fancy room divider that had been set up. The dress that Mrs. Malfoy had chosen for her was a bit old fashioned, much like what Mrs. Malfoy was wearing, only not quite as long, falling slightly past her knees. Obviously, it was black. She had expected as much, as she had never seen the Malfoys wear anything that wasn't either black or green. The material was slick, silk she thought, and felt nice against her skin. With it came a pair of matching black stockings and a pair of low heels that were a bit big but not too bad.

Then, there was the last article of clothing. Stepping out from behind the divider, otherwise fully clothed, she held the item up. “I’m sorry, but what exactly is this?”

“That is a corset. As you may or may not have noticed, both me and my sister wear them on a regular basis,” Mrs. Malfoy explained. “Ordinarily, pureblood girls are trained from a young age to wear them. It helps with posture and gives a nice hourglass figure.”

Hermione blinked.

“And I’m expected to wear one as well?”

“Yes.”

She groaned. Just when she thought things were starting to look a bit up for her.

Mrs. Malfoy took the corset from her and made her grip one of the bed posts while she wrapped the leather article around her waist, slowly but surely tightening it, thus squeezing her insides.

She honestly didn’t understand how pureblood women could function properly while wearing one. It hurt to sit down. It hurt to stand up. It hurt to breathe. All it seemed to do was make her hurt. Sure, it forced her to have perfect posture and gave her breasts a nice lift, but aside from that she could see no other advantages. It certainly couldn’t be healthy. At least it didn’t feel like it.

“I don’t have to wear it all the time, do I?”

“No, you may take it off overnight.”

She let out a breath of relief, or rather she tried.

All that was left was to fix her hair and do her makeup. Hermione made sure that Mrs. Malfoy didn’t go too heavy with the makeup. In the end, they settled upon some simple mascara and gloss. Mrs. Malfoy also helped her to tame her hair by use of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion.

When next she looked at herself in the mirror, she could still recognize her own face, but the rest of her looked quite different. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was a good difference or a bad difference.

“There, now no one will be able to tell that you’re not a pureblood. Just make sure to keep that scar hidden.” Mrs. Malfoy nodded her approval at her reflection.

Hermione didn’t feel good about having to hide who she truly was. It just didn’t feel right. She shouldn’t have to feel ashamed of the fact that her parents were muggles. However, she knew that, given her current circumstances, it would be unwise to go around showing off her scar. She reluctantly nodded her head, convincing herself that she was only doing this for the sake of her own safety.

A knock came to the door not long after.

Mrs. Malfoy went to answer it.

“How is it going?” she heard Tom ask. “Have you made any progress?”

“We will need to order her new clothes, but otherwise she is quite presentable."

Mrs. Malfoy stepped aside as Tom stepped into the room, still dressed in his black cloak.

Hermione wondered if he ever took it off.

Slowly she rose from her seat at the vanity, turning to face him. She didn’t bow, or even nod her head in greeting. She just stared at him.

“You’ve done well, Narcissa,” he complimented. “Now, leave us. I wish to speak with her in private.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

A tight knot formed in Hermione’s stomach as Mrs. Malfoy backed out of the room, leaving her completely alone with Tom for the first time since entering the house. She tried to squash down her fear. After all, she was a Gryffindor, and he was just Tom.

She scoffed internally. If only that were true. He may be Tom Riddle, but he wasn’t the Tom Riddle she thought she knew. He was Lord Voldemort now, and she would be foolish to underestimate him.

After a few moments, once he was sure that Mrs. Malfoy was gone, he pulled back the hood of his cloak.

Tom had changed since their encounter in her fifth year. He was older, not drastically so, but he definitely looked grown up. She couldn’t be sure what his exact age was, but he looked to be in his early twenties. He was still tall and handsome, but now there was something disturbing about him now that made her shiver. She wasn’t sure whether it stemmed from the darkness that practically clung to him, or the fact that his once dark eyes now glowed bright red.

“How long did it take for you to replace me with that red-headed squib?” his voice dripped with venom.

Hermione had managed to hold herself together until that point, but she could hold back no longer.

“How dare you! Do you have any idea just how distraught I was when you disappeared? I looked for you everywhere I could think of, even after I came back from summer vacation. And for your information, Tom, I only started dating Ron a couple weeks before you took over the ministry and decided to send your Death Eaters after us!”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t have had to if you had just stayed and waited for me a bit longer.”

“I didn’t know that you were planning to come back for me! I didn’t even know if you were alive. It’s not like you told me that you were actually V- You-Know-Who, which, by the way, I’m mad at you for.”

“I didn’t think it necessary at the time,” he shrugged it off. “I didn’t know that you were the best friend of Harry Potter.”

"And that's another thing I'm mad at you for. You tried to kill my best friend! Not just once, but several times!"

"Yes well, he practically killed me," he pointed out. "Not that it matters anymore. I'm back now and far better off than I was before."

"That remains to be seen."

Tom reached out to take her face in his hands, an eerie glint in his already disturbing eyes.

"Oh, don’t worry, it will be. The whole world will bear witness to not just my power, but yours as well. Together, we will be an unstoppable force.”

Then, before she could protest, he grabbed her by the arms and pulled her into him, claiming her lips roughly in his.

Hermione let out a startled yelp, struggling against him to get away. She had been kissed two times that day, and yet she found that she hadn’t been able to enjoy either. The first one being rushed, and frankly she wasn’t even sure if she could count it as a genuine kiss, as she was pretty sure Ron had meant it more as a jab at Tom. And the second one now… 

Tom released her a few moments later and Hermione wasted no time in slapping him across the face, just as he had to Ron earlier.

“Don’t try to kiss me when I’m still mad at you!”

Of all the ways to respond, he had the audacity to laugh. “You haven’t changed a bit, Hermione. You’re still just as much of a spitfire as I remember.”

Rubbing at the spot where she had slapped him, which she was proud to say had left a mark, he took a couple steps back.

“There is much work to be done yet before you are ready to take on the wizarding world with me. Starting tomorrow, you shall begin training with me. You are powerful already as you are, but I know you could be so much more so with the right guidance.”

“And what if I don’t want to learn from you?”

He raised a dark brow at her. “Would you rather I have one of the Death Eaters teach you? Snape, perhaps?”

He had her trapped between a rock and a hard place, unsure of who she would rather have less as a teacher. Or maybe a better question was; who did she trust the least? There was no doubt that Snape would be a capable teacher, but he was also unnecessarily cruel. At least with Tom she might not have to put up with the constant jabs about her being an insufferable know-it-all.

“Fine.”

He smirked. This didn’t surprise him in the slightest. He had known she would choose him over Snape from the beginning.

“Then it’s settled.”

Tom started to leave, donning his hood once more, but stopped midway.

“Oh, and I would like to request that you didn’t address me by that name in the presence of others. You may do so, if you insist, in privacy, but otherwise you must address me as ‘My Lord’.”

“I thought you said I was to be your equal?”

“You are, or rather, you will be, once you’ve completed your training.”

Then he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three! Tom and Hermione finally get a moment alone to hash everything out! Let me know what you think and how you think it's going to progress! I love hearing all your thoughts and ideas! It makes my day to see you so interested!


	4. Chapter 4

“Wake up! It is time for Miss to wake up!”

Hermione opened her eyes at the sound of the high-pitched voice. Her vision was blurred from sleep, but she could vaguely make out the figure of a pink-skinned house elf staring back at her with big bright eyes.

“Dobby?” Hermione asked groggily, pulling herself up into a sitting position.

“No, Miss, but Dooly does know Dobby,” the house elf shook its head. “Dobby is Dooly's mate. Dooly was so sad when Dobby left, but Dooly knows it’s what Dobby wanted.”

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Hermione took a better look. She was now able to see that this house elf was in fact not Dobby. The face was different, more feminine looking than Dobby’s. Though, to be fair, she could see how it would be easy to mix them up. She looked almost exactly as Dobby had when he first appeared to Harry in his fourth year to warn him about the Death Eater Attack on the World Cup; scrawny, as if she was half starved and wearing the same dirty pillowcase.

“Now, up with Miss! Mistress Malfoy asked Dooly to serve you breakfast in bed,” Dooly exclaimed. With a snap of her pink fingers, a tray of food lifted off from her vanity and floated over to land right on her lap. “Eat up! Miss has a busy day ahead.”

Rather than marveling at the wonderful looking and smelling food, Hermione just stared at the house elf in growing horror.

“Mrs. Malfoy didn’t, by any chance, assign you to me... did she?”

Dooly nodded, a big grin spreading across her face. “Yes, Mistress Malfoy did! Miss is to be Dooly’s new mistress! Dooly is so pleased to serve her new mistress!”

Had she not already been in bed, Hermione felt as though she might have fainted.

Being treated like royalty and strapped into a corset was one thing, but being assigned a servant - a house elf - of her own was pushing it. This was going too far. She needed to put her foot down and put an end to this.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you didn’t call me that. In fact, I’d rather you not have to address anyone in such a way,” Hermione insisted. “I happen to think it’s cruel and selfish for witches and wizards to enslave house elves, especially the Malfoy's. I saw how Mr. Malfoy treated Dobby. It’s utterly barbaric!”

Dooly shifted nervously, still standing at the foot end of her bed. “Dooly will admit that Master Malfoy was not always pleased with Dobby.”

Hermione was relieved that Dooly didn’t try to physically hurt herself at that claim. At least she wasn’t like Dobby in that aspect.

An idea popped into her head just then.

“If I’m your new mistress, then that means I can set you free, right?” Hermione asked. “All I have to do is give you a piece of clothing.”

Setting the tray aside, she climbed out of bed and rushed excitedly over to her wardrobe, throwing the doors open in search of something she could give to the elf. She eventually settled on a lace garter, as it wasn’t something that anyone would miss terribly much and still classified as clothes.

However, when she turned back to go and present the garter to Dooly, she found the house elf standing, now on the floor, trembling before her.

“Please Miss… Don’t make Dooly take clothing from Miss.”

“Why not? Don’t you want to be free?” Hermione furrowed a brow at the elf. “You could be reunited with Dobby if you were. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Dooly sniffed, tears starting to well up in her big blue eyes. “Dooly knows that Miss means well, and truly Dooly does want to be with Dobby, but Dooly can’t leave. Dooly can’t leave her younglings behind!”

Hermione felt her heart tighten in her chest. Slowly she lowered her hand, the garter slipping out of her fingers and falling to the floor. For the first time in her life, she could actually understand why a house elf wanted to remain in slavery.

Dooly was a mother.

“You have children? How many?”

“Dooly was bred four times. Only two younglings remain, though. Master and Mistress Malfoy sold the other two.”

If Hermione had hated the Malfoy’s before, she surely hated them now. She had read all about house elves and how some pureblood families bred their house elves for profit, back in fourth year when she was doing research for S.P.E.W, but she had never actually seen direct proof of it before.

Until now.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Dooly appreciates Miss asking, but Dooly is fine. Dooly will do what she has to, to stay with her younglings.”

Hermione let out a sigh, bending down to pick the garter up and replace it in her wardrobe.

“Alright, I’ll agree to be your mistress. However, I won’t take advantage of you like the others,” Hermione stated. “You will call me Hermione, and I will make sure you are receiving proper care. Starting now. Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

Dooly shook her head. “No, Miss Hermione.”

"Then you can help me eat mine."

Climbing back onto her bed, she slid the tray back onto her lap and patted the spot next to her for Dooly to join her. It took the house elf a moment to stop do so, as she seemed to be thoroughly surprised by the gesture.

They talked while they ate. Dooly told her about her remaining younglings, Delly and Dezzy. In return, Hermione thought it only fair to tell her about her friends and how the whole reason she was at Malfoy Manor, was to keep them safe, much like Dooly. She even told the elf about her parents and how she had obliviated them and sent them away.

When they were done, Dooly helped her dress, or at least tried to. Hermione insisted that she could dress herself, though she did let her help with tying the corset, as she couldn’t do it herself. Then, Dooly left with the now empty tray, promising to take some time for herself when she was finished cleaning up.

Hermione stepped out of her room, only to narrowly miss colliding into none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Watch where you're going, would you?" Draco snapped as he reached out to steady her. "I thought my mother said she made _progress_ with you. Personally, I think it's a waste of time. You wouldn't know grace and sophistication even if you tripped over them."

She pushed away from him, feeling the urge to disinfect the part of her arm he had touched, even if it was through the material of her dress.

“What are you even doing here, Malfoy?”

“Doing my job,” he said. “Or did you already forget that I was assigned to be your personal guard?”

Hermione cursed under her breath. She hadn’t forgotten about it per say, more than she hadn’t taken the assignment seriously. Clearly Tom was going out of his way to make her uncomfortable.

“If you’re ready, then I’d prefer to get going,” he continued. “I have more important things to do than just follow you around all day.”

“Like what? Stare at yourself in the mirror?”

He glared at her.

“Fine. Take me wherever it is you need to take me.”

Without another word, the two of them started down the corridor, down the stairs back to the ground floor and through various rooms until they came upon the ballroom. It was huge, with polished stone flooring and a huge glittering chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room.

“Thank you, Draco,” Tom said, stepping out into view. “This should take no longer than an hour.”

Draco nodded and took his leave, seeming all too pleased to do so.

“I trust that you slept well?” he asked, closing the ballroom doors with a wave of his wand.

She shrugged. In all honesty, she couldn't remember the last time she had slept so well. What with having to sleep in shifts to keep watch over the camp while she and her friends were on the run, and then the previous six nights she had spent locked in the cellar. That fact hadn't made it any easier to catch up on sleep. However, she didn't want him to know just how much she had enjoyed the comforts he had provided her with.

"It was alright, I suppose," she said, stepping further into the room. "So, what is it you want to teach me?"

“Do you have any experience with Occlumency or Legilimency?”

She shook her head. “I’ve looked into both, but I never had the opportunity to learn.”

Tom hummed to himself. Reaching into his robe, he pulled out her wand in addition to his own, turning it over in his hand as if to examine it before holding it out to her.

Hermione started to reach for it, but hesitated.

“Go on, take it,” he urged her. “It wouldn’t serve much purpose to teach you magic if I didn’t allow you to have your wand.”

She reached out the rest of the distance and took it from his hand, careful not to let their hands touch. As soon as she had it, she quickly retracted her hand back to her side. She suspected that he’d probably take it back at the end of the lesson, but for now, she would savor what time she had with it.

“Can you tell me the difference between the two skills?”

“Legilimency is the ability to extract memories and emotions from a person’s mind. Occlumency is the ability to defend the mind against Legilimency.”

“You are correct.”

Tom began to pace in circles around her, making Hermione feel a bit uneasy.

“It’s also said that it is easier to perform Legilimency if you have direct eye contact,” she added, purposefully looking away.

“Correct again,” he chuckled. “I will begin by teaching you Occlumency, as I believe you will have a greater need for it. Your mind is like a treasure trove of knowledge that people will no doubt try to penetrate. Had Bellatrix used Legilimency rather than torture, she would have easily been able to take whatever information she wanted. The same could be said of those you used to associate with. If you ever encounter them again, and I suspect you shall, they may try to extort information on me from you in a similar manner.”

“My friends would never go so far as to violate my mind!”

His head cocked to the side. “Are you certain? What about the Order of the Phoenix? Do you think they would hesitate to perform Legilimency on you; the person who is closest to me?”

She still didn’t think that her friends would do that, she couldn’t deny that Tom did have a point. She hadn’t thought about it before, but joining Voldemort had effectively made her an enemy to the Order of the Phoenix, even if she never intended to betray them and their secrets. Some of its more senior members, people like Mad-Eye Moody, might try something of the sort.

Besides, if what he said was true about Bellatrix, then she definitely wanted to learn to protect her mind. The last thing she wanted was to have that crazy witch in her mind, or any other Death Eater for that matter.

“Alright, I get the point.”

“I want you to completely clear your mind. Find a way to get rid of anything you don't want found, as I will be attempting to break through your defenses.”

She took a deep breath, pushing all her thoughts and memories away, locking her most secret memories behind a series of barriers.

"Ready?"

She nodded.

Then he was in front of her, hood drawn back and staring at her with those haunting eyes. She couldn't look away. His lips didn't move, but she knew he had cast the spell.

A bitter cold sensation gripped her head, feeling vaguely reminiscent of a brain freeze from eating too much ice cream, as Tom tore into her mind, attempting to claw through her defenses.

She did her best to keep him out. First she imagined her memories hidden deep within the library at Hogwarts, but then she realized that was too easy, as he had spent just as much time in that library as she had. Next she had them locked in a vault below Gringotts, guarded by a Hungarian Horntail.

“Clever, but not quite clever enough, my dear.”

Tom soon broke through that too, blinding the dragon and slipping past. He was just about to blast open the vault when Hermione felt herself begin to panic. There were things locked in there that she didn’t want him to see, some private for personal reasons and some for other reasons.

She heard a loud bang, just then.

The next thing she knew, she had collapsed to her knees. Tom remained standing before her, but she noticed him stagger backwards a few steps.

“What happened?”

“You panicked and unknowingly cast a Knockback Jinx to repel me,” Tom clarified. “You did quite well, being your first try. However, the goal is to repel your opponent solely with your mind. A true Master Legilimens should have no reason to use jinxes.”

They tried again several more times, going at it until Hermione felt too exhausted to continue on, which took a considerable amount of time, seeing as she pushed herself extra. By the time she finally relented and allowed herself to stop, she was confident that she was doing fairly well. Tom hadn’t managed to break through and see anything too drastic, but then again, a part of her felt as though that wasn’t his intention.

Snape had often claimed that Voldemort was the greatest Legilimens of all time, and that he could pick people’s minds apart with ease. If that was true, and she had every reason to believe that it was, he must have been holding back for her.

The thought put her a tiny bit more at ease.

“Now for your reward.”

She raised a brow as she got to her feet. “Reward?”

“You’re not angry with me right now, are you?”

“Well, I don’t-”

Tom cut her off before she could finish that sentence, as he reached out to kiss her.

This time, she didn’t fight against it. Though she tried not to return the kiss, her body betrayed her by leaning into him, her lips molding to his against her will. One of his hands found its way to her hair, his fingers toying with her curls, while the other settled on her waist. For a few brief moments, Hermione felt as though she was back in fifth year, kissing Tom in the library, oblivious and carefree to the rest of the world.

However, it didn’t take long for reality to set back in, bringing her back to her senses.

“Well, if that’s all for now, I think I should take my leave,” she pulled away.

What was she even thinking, kissing him back like that? How could she be so stupid? She couldn’t make it so easy. After all he had done, not only to her, but her friends as well, he was going to have to work harder than that to get her back.

“As you wish,” he smirked. “I’ll have your wand back then.”

He reached out a hand towards her and she reluctantly stepped forward to give it to him. As much as she hated having to relinquish her wand again, it made her feel better to do so of her own doing rather than having him take it from her.

“Meet me out in the gardens after dinner for our next lesson.”

He then pulled his hood back up and turned to exit the room by an alternate door.

During the brief amount of time that she had been a guest at Malfoy Manor, Hermione had noticed that Tom never showed his face to anyone but her. He had also asked her not to address him by his given name other than in private. It raised an interesting question. Did no one else know who he was? Had any of his loyal followers seen his face? Did they know what his true name was? Did they even know that he himself was a half-blood?

If so, they certainly didn’t seem to care, which seemed rather hypocritical in her eyes.

When she stepped out of the ballroom, she found that she was quite alone. She glanced over at the grandfather clock. It had been an hour, and yet her so-called personal guard was nowhere to be found.

“Screw you, Malfoy.”

With a shrug, she decided not to stick around to wait and went off on her own instead. Draco clearly didn’t care for the job, and she didn’t care all that much for that matter either. She had been against the idea from the very beginning. Besides, she was sure that she could find her way back to her room on her own.

Retracing her previous steps, she managed to find her way without any problems. She didn't hurry, taking the opportunity to explore a bit. The house was actually quite beautiful, and she could see how it might actually be a nice place to live, were it not for the Death Eaters scattered about. She spotted two smoking in the parlor in passing. Luckily they didn't take notice of her.

Arriving back in the main hall, she climbed the stairs up to the second floor and was just to turn the corner to head back to her room when she stopped short, hearing an all too familiar voice screaming at her.

“Don’t you dare turn your back to me, you filthy Mudblood!”

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, slowly turning to see Bellatrix Lestrange storming towards her with her wand drawn and fury in her cold, dark eyes.

Instinctively, Hermione began to back away, reaching for her wand, or rather where she usually kept it, only to find that it wasn’t there. Tom had it. She cursed him under her breath. Why couldn’t he have just given her wand back rather than assigning someone who couldn’t care less about her to protect her?

"Stupefy!"

Before she could react, or even move out of the way, Bellatrix’s spell hit her straight in the chest. Her limbs gave out beneath her as her head rolled back. She felt her body hit the floor with a thud.

The last thing she remembered was Bellatrix towering over her, letting out a shrill cackle.

Then everything went dark.


	5. Chapter 5

When Hermione came to, she felt cold and numb, unable to feel her arms or legs or any other part of her body for that matter. Slowly she managed to open her eyes, only to find that the world around her was blurry, spinning out of control. She shut her eyes tight, in hopes that it would pass soon.

Where was she? What had she been doing before? Why did she feel like she had just gotten off of a roller coaster at a local fair? She couldn’t seem to remember for the life of her.

Her senses gradually started to reawaken, allowing her to regain movement in her limbs as well. She was lying on something cold and hard from the feel of it. A floor, maybe? Why was she on the floor? Had she rolled out of bed or something during the night? No, that couldn’t be right. Her bedroom had a nice soft carpet.

"Ah, finally awake are you?"

The sound of that voice brought everything back to her.

Corridor... Bellatrix... Stupefy...

Her eyes shot wide open to find the crazy witch still towering over her, much as she remembered in her previous waking moments. She couldn’t have been out for too long, if that was any indication.

"Did you honestly think you'd seen the last of me? That I wouldn't hear about how you've been strutting around like you own the place, with my own sister and nephew at your beck and call? That I wouldn't hear about how the Dark Lord claimed you as his own _bride?!_ "

“It wasn’t my choice.”

“How did you do it? How did _you_ of all people manage to seduce the Dark Lord? Did you slip him a love potion or something? You couldn’t have used the Imperius Curse, him being the most powerful wizard to ever live.”

“I didn’t do anything!” she insisted. “I swear, I didn't!"

“CRUCIO!"

Hermione had never experienced the effects of the Cruciatus Curse before, at least not on herself. She had seen it used on plenty of people before, mostly at the hand of the same crazy witch, so she had no idea what to expect. Though, she was pretty sure that nothing could have prepared her.

She screamed like she had never screamed before. The pain that wracked through her body was so strong that it was almost unbearable. Hot tears welled up in her eyes, once more blurring her vision. She _wanted_ to beg. She wanted to plead for it to stop, but she couldn't. The only sound that made it out of her mouth were more screams.

Then, just when she thought she couldn't take any more, it stopped.

“Stupefy!”

This time, the spell didn’t come from Bellatrix, who turned away from her quickly to block the spell before it could hit her.

Rolling over onto her side, Hermione scrambled up to her feet just in time to see Draco Malfoy step in front of her.

“You dare to raise your wand against a member of your own family? Your own ‘Auntie Bella’?” Bellatrix taunted him in her ridiculous baby voice.

“The Dark Lord assigned me to be her personal guard.”

“Yes, dearie, I’m well aware,” she said. “And it’s unfair that such a burden should be placed upon your shoulders. If you were to just step aside and let me at her, you wouldn’t have to worry about her any longer. You could forget that she ever stepped foot in this house. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Draco faltered for a moment, his wand lowering.

At that moment, Hermione felt her heart drop in her chest. Whatever hope she had felt at his arrival was soon dashed. She should have known that he wouldn’t truly defend her, especially not against a member of his own family.

A sardonic grin tugged at Bellatrix’s lips. “That’s a good boy, Draco,” she coaxed him. “Now just step out of the way…”

Draco started to step off to the side, but no sooner had he done so, then he raised his wand, firing another spell her way.

“Incarcerous!” he exclaimed. A thick rope shot out of the end of his wand and whipped towards the crazy woman.

Unfortunately, Bellatrix blocked this spell as well, firing back with one of her own.

“Confringo!” at her command, a fiery orange burst of light burst forth, blazing forth like wildfire.

“Protego!”

Pulling both himself and Hermione out of the way, Draco managed to summon a protection charm just in time to stop the flame-like spell from reaching them.

“Stay behind me, Granger!”

Hermione nodded, for once not arguing with him on the matter. She could have used the opportunity to make a run for it to her bedroom, but she didn’t. It was too risky. She would be out in the open, an easy target for Bellatrix to fire at when Draco wasn’t looking. No, it was safer where she was.

“Anteoculatia!”

“Incendio!”

The two of them exchanged a collection of curses and jinxes back and forth. They were both admittedly fine duelists. Hermione was honestly surprised by how well Draco kept up, managing to always either deflect or reverse any spells sent his way.

Though, she supposed that she ought not have been. He had always been quite adept when it came to dueling. She could recall spotting him duelling with Harry in the chaos that was the first meeting of the Dueling Club back in second year, and how he used primarily dark spells, and erratically at that.

There was no doubt that he was powerful.

However, so was Bellatrix, and her power seemed to be only enhanced by brutality with which she fought. Was he really powerful enough to beat her?

Every so often, Bellatrix would try to sneak the stray spell past Draco in an attempt to get at Hermione, making Draco’s job even harder as he kept having to shield her.

Hermione couldn’t help but feel rather useless as she found her unable to do anything but duck behind Draco every time he moved. She hated feeling that way. If only she had her wand, then she could be fighting at Draco’s side against his crazy aunt, or even better, she could have just defended herself, sparing him from getting involved in the first place.

“Give up, Draco!” Bellatrix laughed. “You know you’ll never beat me! When it comes right down to it, you’re nothing more than a child who has to have his mummy hold his hand!”

Draco gritted his teeth. Rather than being discouraged by her taunts, they seemed to urge him onward, fighting with renewed vigor. It was almost as if he had only been fighting at half power before. The tables turned as he started firing spell after spell at her without stop. They were coming so fast that even Bellatrix was struggling to keep up with deflecting them all.

“Expelliarmus!”

Finally one spell managed to break through her shields, and it seemed only fitting that it should be the Disarming Charm. Hermione watched with bated breath as Bellatrix’s wand flew out of her hand and straight into Draco’s.

Bellatrix staggered back a few steps, her eyes widening in shock for a few moments before they narrowed once more, returning to their usual cruelty.

“You’ve beaten me! Big deal!” she snarled. “What are you going to do with me now, hmm, Draco? Are you going to stun me? Torture me, perhaps? Make me pay for harming a hair on her precious Mudblood head?”

“That is for me to decide.”

A puff of black smoke enveloped them in the hallway then, and out of it shot a wisp of an arm, wrapping itself around Bellatrix's pale neck as it lifted her off her feet and sent her flying backwards. The crazy witch landed a good twenty-thirty feet away.

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy came rushing up the stairs soon after. Mrs. Malfoy flocked straight to her son, cupping his face in her hands as she checked him over for even the smallest scratch.

“You were so brave, my sweet boy," she praised him. "Are you hurt?"

“I'm fine, Mother,” Draco glanced over at Hermione, a tinge of pink staining his cheeks as he struggled to get his mother to stop fussing over him. ”Stop it, you're embarrassing me!"

Unlike his wife, Mr. Malfoy didn't seem all that concerned about their son, or if he was, he didn’t show it. His gaze was instead focused on the scene unfolding before them.

Stepping out from behind Draco, she saw that Tom had appeared from the smoke, and was striding towards Bellatrix, who had since scrambled to her feet to face him.

“My Lord…I've been your most loyal and devoted follower all these years.”

“ _Loyal and devoted?_ ” Tom scoffed. “Anyone who was truly loyal to me would obey my orders without question rather than going out of their way to disobey them behind my back. And this is the second time you’ve done so.”

“Forgive me, My Lord,” she pleaded. “I did not mean it as an offence to you.”

“Then why do it?”

“Because I love you!”

The corridor went quiet for a while after that.

Hermione wasn't sure if it was from the immense strain her body had been subjected to between the Cruciatus Curse as well as all the extra movement afterwards during the duel, or the crazy witch's outburst, but she suddenly felt lightheaded.

"You what?!"

"I've been in love with you since the moment I met you, My Lord," Bellatrix said proudly. "I waited for your return anxiously and was so happy when you came to rescue me from Azkaban. Everything was going well. It seemed as though no time had passed at all…"

Bellatrix broke off, turning her eyes away from Tom and fixating them back at Hermione in a menacing glare.

"But then you stopped caring about me and started obsessing over obtaining the mudblood. I don't know how it happened, but she must have bewitched you. That's why I tried to kill her... because she was trying to steal you away from me!”

When Tom failed to reply, or even move an inch, Bellatrix stepped closer, leaning into him so that her breasts were pressed against him.

“Why would you want a puny, pathetic _girl_ like her, My Lord?” Bellatrix began to trail her hands down his body, starting at his shoulders and then down his sides, lingering for a moment at his waist before trailing her fingers across where his crotch was. “Wouldn’t you rather have a _woman_ like me?”

Seeing Bellatrix run her vile fingers all over him like that… it was like pure torture to Hermione, even worse than the actual torture she had endured. The urge to kill the crazy witch returned full force as she started to lunge forward, only to be stopped and held back by Mrs. Malfoy who shook her head at her.

Draco was too busy staring in wide-eyed horror at his aunt, looking as if he might be sick. Hermione couldn’t say that she blamed him one bit. She felt rather ill herself.

“Crucio!”

Bellatrix dropped to the floor at Tom’s feet, her body spasming with pain as she let out a scream so shrill that it surely could have broken glass. In fact, it was a surprise that the windows, and even the vases, remained intact through it.

Hermione glanced down at her feet, feeling at war with herself. A part of her felt as though she ought to try and stop it, or at least feel somewhat guilty, but she couldn’t bring herself to do either of those things. The other part of her felt that Bellatrix deserved every ounce of pain she was currently experiencing and more for all the pain she had inflicted not only on herself but everyone else who had the displeasure of being her victims.

Tom kept the curse going for an extended amount of time, or rather that’s what it seemed like. It was hard to tell exactly how long it lasted, but eventually he released her. Even after, her body wouldn’t stop twitching for at least a good five minutes.

At that moment, everyone was sure that he was going to use the infamous Killing Curse on her next, but instead, he surprised them by withdrawing his wand and stepping away.

“Let this serve as your _final_ warning, Bellatrix. If you attempt to harm her again, and I will know if you do, I will not hesitate to kill you. Do I make myself clear?”

Picking her head up off the ground to look up at him, she nodded her head in resignation. “Y-Yes, My Lord.”

“Lucius, take your sister-in-law down to the cellar and lock her in a cell until I see fit to release her,” Tom motioned.

Mr. Malfoy bowed stiffly and moved past him towards the fallen witch. A few moments later, he had her restrained with magic resistant shackles and suspended in mid air, levitating her down the stairs and out of sight.

Only then did Tom turn to face the remaining three. Hermione noticed how both Draco and Mrs. Malfoy tensed, as if they anticipated that they too might be tortured.

“Despite your late entrance, you did well in protecting the Dark Lady, Draco,” Tom said. “I am impressed by your skill. Not many have duelled with Bellatrix and lived to tell the tale. Your actions today have earned you a higher rank within the Death Eaters. You will stand as your father’s equal. However, you will still remain as the Dark Lady’s personal guard and I expect you to be at her side whenever I am not.

“Do I make myself clear?”

Draco nodded. “Yes, thank you, My Lord.”

“Narcissa, fetch a healer from St. Mungo’s,” Tom ordered, turning to Mrs. Malfoy. “I want the Dark Lady examined to make sure your sister didn’t inflict too much lasting damage.”

Mrs. Malfoy nodded and followed after her husband.

“Draco, you may leave as well. I will escort her back to her room myself.”

And then the two of them were left alone.

Tom offered her his arm for support, but Hermione shook her head and started walking off on her own. Her body felt stiff and sore, as if a billion needles were poking at her skin whenever she moved, and there were a couple of times when she had to lean against the wall, in which Tom rushed to her side offering to help her. She brushed him off each time, insisting on walking on her own.

She made it to her room and pushed open the door, heading straight towards her bed. Once there, she was able to get a better look at the state of herself. The one sleeve of her dress had been cut open to reveal her scar, which was tender and bleeding again. She deduced that Bellatrix must have tried to deepen the scar while she was unconscious, as it looked even more messy than it had before.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You’ve done enough.”

“Hermione, I am truly sorry that this happened. I should have known that she would try something again.”

She nodded her head in understanding. “Just make sure she stays away from me from now on.”

“I will, I promise.”

Tom started to move towards her, but Hermione shifted further onto her bed away from him.

"I just want to be alone right now."

He backed off. "Very well."

Then he turned and left, leaving her alone in her room.

Only then did she throw herself back onto her bed, burying her face in one of the pillows and broke down, letting out all the tears that had wanted to be released earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was rather difficult to write. I struggled with it quite a lot. A big thank you to my friend, Sana for helping me through it! :)


	6. Chapter 6

A healer from St. Mungo’s arrived within the hour as ordered. She was an older witch, with graying red hair and hazel eyes, and had a warm smile that reminded Hermione of her mum. It had a two-sided effect on her. In one way, seeing a friendly face in such an unfriendly place brought her comfort, but at the same time it also brought a bout of homesickness forward.

She missed her mum, and how she always tried to bake healthy treats without any sugar or chocolate. She missed her dad and how he would always crack jokes when she was down to make her laugh. What she wouldn’t give to taste one of her mum’s sugar free cookies or hear another one of her dad’s lame jokes. Sadly, she knew that there was little chance of that.

Not until the war was over.

That was, _if_ the war ever ended...

Entering the room with Mrs. Malfoy, the healer went straight to work. "Hello, My Lady. I'm Healer MacGavin," she greeted with a Scottish accent. "Mrs. Malfoy here tells me you've had quite the eventful morning. How are you feeling?"

Hermione shrugged, "I'm a bit tired and stiff, but aside from that, I feel okay."

“That’s good to hear,” Healer MacGavin nodded her head.

The healer took a seat at the edge of the bed and pulled out a notebook. A quick quotes quill soon appeared out of nowhere and began to write things down.

“Now, I’m going to ask you a series of questions,” the healer claimed. “Do you mind?”

She shook her head. “Go ahead.”

“Do you have any previous health issues that I should be aware of?”

“No,” she replied simply.

Healer MacGavin continued to ask questions, mostly along the same lines, such as what her blood type was, and whether she had ever been submitted to the Cruciatus Curse before, which thankfully she hadn’t. It seemed hard to believe that, with everything that she had gone through thus far, this was only the first time she had experienced the Torture Curse. She was grateful at least for that. Once was more than enough.

When the healer was finished, she closed her notebook back up, banishing both it and the quill into thin air.

Hermione was made to lay back flat on her bed as Healer MacGavin took out her wand and began to mutter incantations. A bright golden glow washed over her body, a tingling sensation spreading across her skin as the healing magic took effect. She couldn’t see exactly what was going on, as it was too bright for her eyes. All she could do was stare up at the ceiling and wait for the examination to be over.

“You appear to be undernourished and a bit dehydrated,” the healer claimed. “I recommend a more balanced diet and lots of liquids for the next little while.”

“I will inform the house elves of this,” Mrs. Malfoy replied.

That didn’t come as much of a surprise. She had spent many months on the run with Harry and Ron, with a limited supply of food to survive off of. Every now and then they picked up a few things from a muggle grocery store as they were passing through, but they didn’t have a whole lot of money on them and had to try and save in case of an emergency.

And then there was the fact that she spent seven days in a dingy prison cell where she was lucky to get one meagre meal a day.

“The wound on her arm also seems to be infected. I can clean it, but I fear that to heal it completely is beyond my expertise,” continued the healer. “However, I can get into contact with a friend of mine who specializes in cursed wounds, if you’d like. He might be able to do something.”

Hermione opened her mouth to inform the healer that it wouldn’t be necessary, but was unable to as she was cut off by Mrs. Malfoy.

“Please do. It would be preferable if we were able to get rid of that horrendous scar.”

“That’s not your decision to make!” Hermione snapped.

She was so tired of having other people make decisions for her, ordering her around as if she was a servant, when in reality she was supposed to be the one in charge. Tom had named her as his equal, or rather he would when she completed her training. Regardless, she was still his Dark Lady, and as much as she disliked the title itself, it meant that she had more than enough authority to make decisions for herself.

“Excuse me?!” Mrs. Malfoy retorted, her voice revealing that she was offended by this. “Don’t you want to be rid of the scar?”

She had to admit that the idea of not seeing that name every time she looked at her arm did appeal to her. However, she wasn’t going to tell Mrs. Malfoy that. She wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

“You can contact the specialist if you want. If it turns out that he can’t find a way to get rid of it, then so be it. It’s not the end of the world. It’s just a name. A horrid, vulgar name that should not be given to anyone, no matter what their blood status, but still just a name.”

Mrs. Malfoy didn’t respond to that, and Hermione entertained herself by imagining what the look on her face might look like were she able to see it.

The healer cleared her throat to try and break the tension in the air.

“I will owl him with your case and see what can be done,” she said. “Is this agreeable to you, My Lady?”

She nodded.

“Aside from that, there seems to be a bit of dark magic in your body, but I wouldn’t worry about it, as it is most likely just residue from the Cruciatus Curse.”

The glowing dissipated after that, allowing Hermione to see clearly again.

Sure enough, Mrs. Malfoy looked most displeased, glaring down her pointed nose at her. “The Dark Lord wants to know if she is well enough to continue with her magical training,” she turned away from her to address the healer.

“I would recommend giving her the rest of the day off to rest, but yes, I think so.”

“I will inform the Dark Lord of this.”

Healer MacGavin did what she could to clean her scar, staving off the infection, and then bidding farewell, took her leave. She was soon followed by Mrs. Malfoy, who couldn’t resist sparing one last glare in her direction on her way out.

Alone once more, she sat up and crossed over to her wardrobe to change out of the dress that Bellatrix had slashed at. She hadn’t been fitted for clothes of her own yet, so she was stuck with Mrs. Malfoy’s old clothes, which consisted of nothing but black dresses. She rolled her eyes as she selected the least horrible looking of the bunch and headed behind the changing screen in the corner.

It took her a while to undo the corset, as she had to reach behind her to do so. She was all too happy to be free of it, and carelessly threw it over the screen. This dress was more grey than black, a bit longer, and had an adjustable sash at the waist to make it fit better. She couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh of relief, feeling much more comfortable. She never thought she’d feel so happy to be able to breathe again.

"You know, black really isn't your color, Granger."

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin when she stepped out from behind the screen and saw Draco standing leaned against the doorway.

"Merlin, Malfoy! Don't sneak up on me like that," she clutched a hand to her chest, her heart beating frantically. "What are you even doing in here? This is my room. You're not supposed to enter without permission."

He shrugged it off. "As your personal guard, I like to think that rule doesn't apply to me. What if my _dear_ aunt were to break in at night and try to murder you in your sleep? Would you really want me to knock and wait for your permission before coming to your rescue?"

Hermione clenched her teeth. He had a point there, she supposed. Though, she certainly hoped it wouldn't come to that. Perhaps she could ask Tom about putting up wards around her room to keep certain people, like Bellatrix, out just in case.

"As for my being here, the Dark Lord sent me to keep you company."

"Oh, now you obey his orders?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her.

He let out a sigh. Pushing off from the doorframe, he took a few steps further inside. "How was I supposed to know that my aunt was on the war path? I didn't even know she was awake. Mother went to check on her first thing this morning and said she was still unresponsive. She was either faking it, or she woke up during your lesson with the Dark Lord.

"How did that go, by the way?"

She wouldn't be surprised if Bellatrix was just pretending to be unresponsive. It sounded like something she would do, and for that she supposed that she couldn’t really blame him.

"It went alright, I suppose. He thought it would be best to start teaching me Occlumency first."

“You should be grateful to be given the chance to learn from a master like him,” Draco blew a stray strand of hair out of his face. “Imagine being taught by my deranged aunt.”

Her eyes widened in horror. She had suspected that he was trained in Occlumency after everything that had happened in their sixth year, but she had never taken the time to consider who might have taught him. To have Bellatrix as a teacher… She didn’t want to even try to imagine that.

“You don’t seem terribly fond of her.”

“What? You think she’s only like that with people she hates?” he scoffed. “Honestly, I don’t think she has a good side. Unless you count the way she was with the Dark Lord.”

They both shuddered at the reminder. It was going to take a while for her to get the image of her touching him out of her head.

“That was probably the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“You think that was bad? You should have seen her when she arrived here straight out of Azkaban. She could barely walk, and she just kept repeating ‘he’s back’. And then she started licking her Dark Mark like a dog!”

Hermione gagged, envisioning the image she had seen on Bellatrix’s wanted poster. If she thought Sirius looked mad when he escaped from Azkaban, Bellatrix made him look perfectly sane in comparison.

From there, the two settled into conversation, complaining and exchanging horror stories involving the crazy witch with one another. As odd as it seemed, Hermione actually found it not as unpleasant as she would have thought. They talked and laughed, as if they hadn’t been rivals for as long as they had known each other. Dare she say it, but it was actually somewhat enjoyable.

Not that she would ever admit that out loud.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue back there,” she said. “I won’t lie, I thought you were going to step aside and let Bellatrix have her way for a moment there, but you didn’t. You’re mother was right. That was incredibly brave of you.”

“Don’t get all heartfelt on me, Granger,” he passed it off as if it meant nothing, but the tinge of color on his pale cheeks proved otherwise. “I just didn’t want to get into trouble with the Dark Lord. Otherwise I couldn’t care less what happens to you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, Malfoy.”

Silence washed over them after that. It was hard to believe that they had managed to have a decent conversation before. Hermione supposed it was pushing it to think that she might be able to be on friendly terms with him.

“Are you planning to go back to Hogwarts after the break?” she asked.

He shrugged. “My mother wants me to, but it’ll depend on whether or not the Dark Lord will spare me. It’s hard to tell with the extra responsibilities he’s given me since your arrival.”

“Oh.”

She hadn’t considered that being assigned her personal bodyguard might prevent him from going back to school. Needless to say, she didn’t much like the thought that her presence might be preventing someone from completing their education.

“I’m sorry about that. I truly didn’t mean to burden you and your family in such a way,” she apologized. “I’ll talk to the Dark Lord about it and see if I can convince him to let you go.”

Draco nodded.

“What about you?” he asked. “What do you plan to do?”

She let out a sigh as she sat down on the edge of her bed. Truth be told, she wasn’t entirely sure about that. The whole reason she had chosen to accept Tom’s offer was to protect her friends. She didn’t have any way of knowing whether they were in fact safe, but she hadn’t been given reason to believe that they weren’t, so that was good. That much was good. Her sacrifice wasn’t completely in vain.

“Well, I doubt he’ll let me go back to Hogwarts, seeing as he insists on training me himself,” she said. “I suppose the only thing I _can_ do is work hard and earn his trust in hopes of getting my wand back. At least then I won't be so utterly defenseless and reliant on others to protect me.”

“I look forward to that day.”

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that the chapter's a bit on the short side. On the plus side, we got some nice interaction between Hermione and Draco in this chapter... At least I think it was nice.


	7. Chapter 7

Training with Tom resumed the very next morning and carried on for the following week, intensifying with every day that passed. This was no doubt the result of her encounter with Bellatrix. As tiring as it was, she couldn’t really complain too much. It was for her own benefit that she trained.

In the mornings, they would practice her Occlumency, followed shortly after by her Legilimency. In only three days she made exceptional progress with Occlumency. Even though Tom slowly but surely increased his efforts to break through, she matched them with her own defenses. He hadn’t managed to break through yet.

Legilimency on the other hand… That proved to be a bit more troublesome.

Part of it had to do with the fact that she was opposed to the idea of breaking into someone's mind. It just seemed so disrespectful. She tried to tell Tom that she would never have need of the skill, but he claimed otherwise, insisting on teaching her it regardless.

After that they would take a break until after lunch when they would work on her dueling as well as the refinement of her wandless and nonverbal magic. She had only ever taught herself to do small things with it, such as lift books and summon objects, but under his instruction, she began to be able to cast certain spells as well. Stupefy was one spell she was particularly eager to master in these methods, as it would most likely prove useful when paired with Occlumency.

Then, she would have lessons with Mrs. Malfoy, who was attempting to teach her the etiquette and protocol of pureblood society. The amount of rules that she had to remember while doing the most simple of tasks was mind numbing.

Stand up straight, shoulders back, but do not appear tense. Walk with short, quick steps rather than long. Sit with your legs folded to the side, never crossed. Always eat with a napkin on your lap. Never show your bare ankles to anyone but your husband. Mrs. Malfoy just seemed to go on and on without end.

Luckily, she now had some clothes of her own, which she managed to get some say on. As insisted upon, by Mrs. Malfoy, they primarily consisted of dresses, but in colors other than just black. She managed to get some in a dark purple shade, and even a few in Gryffindor red, much to Mrs. Malfoy’s distaste. She was thrilled not to have to wear black all the time.

Unfortunately, the new clothes also included a set of black Death Eater robes…

As much as she hated to admit it, Draco was right. Black was not her color.

Speaking of Draco…

Things were going admittedly alright with her personal guard. At first she had found it annoying to have him around all the time, but after he came to her aid, she had developed an unspoken appreciation for him. Not only was he handy to have around when she needed to get somewhere, but he wasn't entirely awful company either. They didn't talk much, but what little they did was nice.

Though she had pleaded his case, Tom’s mind was made up that Draco should remain at the manor rather than returning to school. However, she did manage to talk him into giving Draco some lessons as well.

Finally, after dinner came the lessons that she had quickly come to dread the most; the Dark Arts. As you can imagine, she was quite against the idea at first.

"Absolutely not! I refuse to have anything to do with dark magic!" Hermione insisted, crossing her arms in front of her.

Tom raised a brow. "It seems rather pointless for you to be the Dark Lady if you're unwilling to even learn dark magic."

"I don't care. I refuse to use such vile, evil spells!"

"You shouldn't think of it like that," Tom shook his head. "There is no good or evil when it comes to power. You would be doing yourself a great disservice to reject this particular branch of magic. Those too weak to seek it are only setting themselves up for failure, and if you are to be my equal, that is not acceptable."

She didn't like it. She didn't like it one bit. It was almost as if he expected perfection. As if he expected her to never fail. How could he possibly expect so much? She was only human, after all, same as he.

Or at least, she believed he was human…

"Fine, I'll agree to learn it, so long as you don't force me to use it outside of training purposes."

He grinned in satisfaction. "I knew you'd see reason."

They started with jinxes, which Tom described as being the least dark of all spells. She didn't have too much trouble with them, mastering them with relative ease. It was actually sort of fun, not to mention a great way to destress and release her anger, as it gave her the opportunity to test out jinxes on Tom and even Draco when he joined them for lessons. 

Then they moved onto hexes, which weren’t too different from jinxes, aside from the fact that they inflicted slightly worse damage.

“Densaugeo!” Hermione exclaimed, pointing her wand at her platinum blonde opponent.

Draco let out a startled yelp as his two front teeth began to stretch dramatically. “Oh, very clever! You got back at me for the incident in fourth year,” he scowled at her once they had stopped. “Are you satisfied now?”

Hermione nodded her head, unable to hold back the laughter that overtook her. She knew it was rather mean to do so, seeing as she hadn’t thought it was a laughing matter when it happened to her, but he just looked so funny.

“Yes, very much so.”

A few moments later, Hermione sprouted a pair of matching beaver teeth. She scowled back at him.

“I figured that if I must be a beaver, you might as well join me,” Draco remarked with a slight smirk.

She rolled her eyes. “Let’s just say we’re even.”

“Agreed.”

And finally came the curses. They started with minor curses such as the Babbling Curse and the Conjunctivitis Curse and worked their way up. Tom shared with her some of the curses that he himself had invented. They were far from pleasant, but thoroughly effective.

Then came the worst of the worse.

The Unforgivable Curses …

“I presume you’ve been taught the basics about what they are and what they do?” Tom asked.

Hermione nodded. They had been taught about them in fourth year by Mad-Eye Moody, or rather Death Eater Barty Crouch Jr. under the effects of Polyjuice to disguise himself as Mad-Eye Moody.

“He demonstrated them using spiders.” She purposefully left out the bit about how he had demonstrated the Imperius Curse by placing each and every one of his students under it for a brief period.

“Yes, I’m familiar with his methods,” Tom stated, going over to the table he had set up in the far corner of the room with a covered container atop of it. Removing the cloth, he picked up what appeared to be a terrarium. At first she could see nothing but plants inside, but as he brought it closer, she spotted a beetle perched on one of it’s branches. “I thought I would take a page out of his book for this particular lesson, as I assumed you’d have no quarrels with hurting an insect.”

Hermione felt herself flood with relief. She had been worried about that, afraid that he would try to make her kill one of his remaining prisoners. “I can work with that. Thank you.”

“Let’s start with the Imperius Curse,” he said, holding the terrarium up towards her. “Try to make it do something.”

That was simple enough. 

“Imperio!”

Raising her wand to the tiny beetle, she ordered it to jump up and down, which it immediately began to do.

“Now try the Cruciatus Curse. The key to this curse is that you have to truly want to cause your opponent pain.”

“Well, that might be problematic, seeing as it’s just a beetle.”

“Don’t think of it as just a beetle. Close your eyes and imagine it’s something or someone you truly hate,” he suggested. “Imagine it as Bellatrix. Were you not angry with her over how you treated her? Did it not enrage you to see her touch me as she did?”

The mere recollection of _that_ made her blood start to boil, her hands balling into fists.

Tom smirked at that. “Just as I thought.”

Doing as he had instructed, she closed her eyes and envisioned that it was Bellatrix standing before her instead, weak and defenseless in Tom’s grasp. She allowed the anger she felt to bubble like an anger, thinking about all the ways she wanted to make the crazy witch pay for everything she had done.

“Crucio!”

The beetle let out a screech, that, for a beetle, she supposed was considerably high-pitched, and she could faintly hear the sound of its legs hitting against the glass, no doubt squirming in pain as she imagined Bellatrix doing.

“Now finish her off with the Killing Curse.”

Lost in her imagination, she did not hesitate. “Avada Kedavra!”

Whatever faint sounds she had been able to hear, were then silenced. When she opened her eyes, she found that the beetle had collapsed lifelessly. It was dead.

“How do you feel?” Tom asked.

Hermione panted. Performing all three of those curses in a row seemed to have taken a lot out of her, leaving her feeling weakened and a bit dizzy even. Aside from that, it left her with a feeling that she had never felt before. She felt powerful, as if she could do anything, and no one could stand in her way. It was an addictive feeling that on one hand made her feel oddly satisfied, but at the same time also made her feel horribly dirty, as if a hundred washes wouldn't clean her entirely.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s hard to describe.”

He nodded his head.

“That’s understandable. The first time using the Unforgivables always leaves an impact. It will pass with time."

She supposed that she'd have to take his word on that.

“Where did you even get the beetle?”

“Ah, I’ve been hunting this one for quite some time now. Gave me quite the chase, the sneaky thing, but I managed to capture it in the end,” Tom conjured the table over to him, from across the room and set the terrarium back down. Reaching in, he scooped the dead beetle into his hand. “Tell me, do you notice anything peculiar about this beetle?”

She raised a brow at him questioningly. She didn’t see how this had anything to do with the lesson, but still she leaned in for a closer look. There was something vaguely familiar about this beetle, though, for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what it was.

“It’s a Giant Dung Beetle; a magical beast that is related to its smaller cousin, the non-magical Dung Beetle, as well as the Scarab Beetle, and is native to Egypt.”

“A truly textbook worthy answer,” Tom applauded her. “However, that’s not quite the answer I was looking for.”

Tom then crouched down and set the beetle on the floor between their feet. “Homorphus!” He sent a spell at the beetle.

Before she was able to fully comprehend what was happening, the beetle began to transform. Human arms shot out of its sides, followed by legs, then the body before finally the head. It was not a pretty sight to see, and sadly it was a transformation that she had the displeasure of seeing once before.

Hermione felt all the blood rush from her face as an unnaturally cold sensation took over her. The body was slightly mangled from abuse, but one glance at the face left no doubt as to who she was.

It was Rita Skeeter, the nosy journalist from the Daily Prophet and author of several ambiguous novels.

Her whole body began to tremble uncontrollably as it dawned on her what had happened. “Y-You tricked me!”

“What difference does it make what form she takes? She’s still a pest, and the world will be better off without her.” Tom shrugged.

Hermione spent the next few minutes glancing back and forth between the journalist’s body and her wand.

She had done this. She had killed this woman with her own wand, be it unknowingly, but still… No wonder she felt so dirty. She was a murderer, and what was worse, was that she had actually enjoyed it to some extent.

This whole time she had reassured herself that she would never become like Tom, no, like Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but she couldn’t say that anymore. At least not without being hypocritical. No matter whether they had killed thousands and she had only killed one, it still made her just as bad as them in her mind.

“Now, you are truly my Dark Lady.”

She had never felt so sickened by the title.

“I believe this warrants a special reward.” Reaching into his robe he pulled out and opened a small black box to reveal a familiar gold and black ring that she recognized as the ring that had once sat on the late Headmaster Dumbledore’s hand.

“This is the Gaunt Family Ring, an heirloom from my mother’s side that has been in the family for centuries. Unfortunately, it no longer holds a part of my soul, but still, it’s only fitting that you should wear it to cement our engagement.”

She wondered how he had gotten it, but didn’t ask, as she found herself unable to speak as of that moment.

When she failed to respond, or even move, he reached out to lift her hand, fitting the ring onto her index finger. It too felt cold, as did his touch.

Everything felt cold to her.

Drawing back his hand, he reached back into his robe and took out her wand.

“I intend to call a meeting of my followers tomorrow night, where I will officially introduce you as the Dark Lady,” he claimed. “I will allow you to have your wand back, but keep in mind that I will be able to tell if you use it to try and escape, just as I will be able to tell if you use it to defend yourself in the same way.

“Do I make myself clear?”

Hermione nodded.

“Forgive me for dealing so harshly with you, but it was necessary. I knew you would never complete the lesson otherwise,” Tom apologized, his expression only slightly revealing the sincerity of his words. “You may leave if you wish. I will push you no further today.”

She turned to leave without hesitation, her limbs moving almost on their own as she pushed open the ballroom door, closing it quickly behind her and stepped out into the drawing room.

Draco, who was seated on one of the sofa’s reading a book across from his mother, shut it and rose to his feet when he noticed her. “Done with the lesson already?” he asked. “That went quicker than I expected.”

He stopped short when he saw the look on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

She couldn’t see herself, and there was no mirror nearby for her to do so, but judging from Draco’s reaction, she could only assume that she looked about as good as she felt.

“S-She’s dead… I killed her… He tricked me into it…”

She hadn’t thought it was possible for Draco’s skin to get any paler, but it did. “Who? Who did you kill, Granger?”

Slowly she looked up to meet his gaze, her vision blurred by the tears starting to form in her eyes. “Rita Skeeter.”

His eyes flooded with understanding, as she presumed he must have figured out what happened.

The woman hadn’t been someone that Hermione was fond of. In fact, she had once trapped her in her Animagus form once, holding her hostage in a jar until she promised never to bother her and her friends anymore. But still… She didn’t hate the woman enough to want to kill her.

“Draco, take her up to her room,” Mrs. Malfoy instructed. “I’ll send Dooly up with some tea straight away.”

With a nod, Draco took hold of her elbow and began to guide her through the house and up the stairs back to her room.

Over the course of time that she had been at Malfoy Manor, she had probably spent more time in her bedroom than anywhere else, as it was the one and only place where she could be alone. It was her sanctuary, her respite from the cruel realities that lay outside waiting for her.

The first thing she did once there, was cast a spell to pull the curtains closed over each window, leaving the room in darkness. She didn’t want to see light at the moment. She didn’t want to be taunted by it, as it served as a reminder of the darkness that was slowly creeping up inside of her.

She felt at war with herself. A part of her wanted to just succumb to the darkness, but the other part of her, the flame that had yet to be snuffed out, told her to keep fighting for the light.

"I know that Headmaster Dumbledore didn't actually die by my wand, but to this very day, it still haunts me as if he did."

She nodded her head. She understood the feeling, as well as the meaning behind it. This was something she would have to live with for the rest of her life. With time it might fade, but never entirely.


End file.
